Tight Quarters

by Annabeth Albert

  “But years from now—and I want years from you—you’re going to look back on this book, at what you could have done, and you’re going to resent me. You will.”

  “I want years too.” Spencer was getting a little desperate here. “And you’re wrong—there is room for compromise here. I’ve been thinking about this continually, especially since Oscar died—”

  “Hold up. Oscar died?”

  “Yeah. A few days ago. My piece on him ran in Sunday’s paper.”

  “I’ll read it. I’m so sorry, Spence. I know he was important to you.” Del gave him a quick squeeze on the arm.

  “He was.” He had to clear his throat from the emotions threatening to bubble over.

  “And he’d want you to do this book.”

  “You don’t know that,” Spencer countered. “And actually, I don’t think so. I think he’d want me to make things work with you more. I think he’d tell me that there are other stories, other chances to make a difference, but only a few shots at love.”

  Del growled at that word.

  “Can we still not say that? That’s what this is for me. I love you. I want a future together. I want to be public together—I don’t want you to have to hide what we have because of something I’m writing.”

  That Del didn’t immediately reassure him that he felt the same way made Spencer’s stomach sink. More so when Del didn’t speak as they exited 75 except to deal with base security. He found a space near Spencer’s car, big truck dwarfing Spencer’s poor Beemer.

  “I’m sorry. I just assumed you felt the same way. I shouldn’t have—”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t.” Del’s narrowed eyes gave him a fierce expression. “Told you. Losing you gutted me. I want a future measured in years, not Spencer’s next deadline.”

  Ouch. That cut, made his chest feel raw with the accuracy of that barb.

  “I can’t promise to never write something that makes you upset, but I can promise that it won’t end us—no story is more important than ours. The one we’re creating. Our story. That’s the one I’m really missing out on here if we don’t give it a second chance.”

  “So no more deal-breakers? And I was guilty of the ultimatum-throwing too. I can promise I won’t do that over a story again either. We work things through, together?”

  “Yeah. We can talk. And I should have talked to you sooner. Way sooner. That’s on me.”

  “I still don’t know about you not writing the book.” Del bit his lip, exact same spot his mother did when she’d been uncomfortable around Spencer. “That’s a lot to ask of you. And you’re saying now that you won’t resent me, but maybe I’ll resent it, wonder what you could have done with it.”

  “First, I’m not hurting for cash. Losing this deal isn’t going to break me. Second, I’ve got Oscar’s memoirs now, and that’s a project that needs me too. I’m really finding myself excited about the prospect of editing them, getting them ready for publication. Third, I’ve told you about my work mentoring the interns at the paper. I think I have the right young writer in mind for this—I can work with her on it, be more like Oscar and mentor her, keep my hands on the project, but more behind the scenes where it won’t hurt your career as much. It’ll be her book, her byline, but I can make sure the research is impeccable and that the stories get told.”

  “You’d do that? Let someone else take the credit?”

  “There was a time when no one wanted me doing more than fluff reviews for the arts-and-entertainment page. But Oscar gave me my first real scoop, told me to run with it. He could have given it to a more experienced writer, but he gave me a break. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about my legacy, and I want to know that I did my part to mentor the next generation. So, yes, I think I could be okay passing the project on to someone else.”

  “And you really think I’m worth that?” Del’s voice was quiet.

  “You’re worth so much more. So much. And it’s us. We’re worth finding compromises on for stuff like this.” Spencer pulled him toward him—it was not unlike trying to move a khaki boulder, but he succeeded in making Del look at him. “Tell me that we can try again. For real this time.”

  “And if people give you shit for meeting me on assignment? Because that’s coming, I’m sure. A lot of people may not care, but some will.”

  Spencer made an impatient noise because he didn’t really want to think about that right now. “I’ll deal. As you said, I’m Spencer Fucking Bryant. I’ll take my lumps, and honestly say that we didn’t start up until after the assignment, and I’ll deal with the blip to my reputation.”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s it? Okay?” Spencer blinked.

  “Okay, we can do this thing. Not try. Do it.” Del finally, finally closed the gap between them, leaning in for the barest brush of lips. “I’m a SEAL. We don’t try. We do. And I do want to do this with you.”

  “Come back with me,” Spencer urged. “Even if it’s just to sleep. You look exhausted.”

  “I am,” he groaned. “And sleeping next you sounds like heaven, but I need to be prepared for some more making-chief hazing tonight and tomorrow morning. I probably need to stay in the barracks tonight, but fuck, how I have missed you.”

  “You mean my bed and my shower and my cooking?”

  “I mean you.” Then they were kissing for real, kissing like the world might burn down around them and they’d still be here in this truck, wrapped up in each other. But because they were in a truck, on base, where someone Del knew could see them, Spencer reluctantly pulled away, and busied himself straightening Del’s uniform.

  “Missed you so much.” Del rested his forehead against Spencer’s. “Does us being together now mean I can drag you to this thing I have to do next weekend?”

  “Absolutely. Especially if I get a night with you in the bargain.” He tried not to look too desperate to get Del in his bed again.

  “It’s Curly’s wedding. My team and other friends will be there.” Del regarded him carefully, wariness back in his eyes as if he was expecting Spencer to say no.

  “Then I guess I’ll bring a suit.” Spencer sighed. “I know it’s not going to be easy for you, coming out to them, and I’ll handle whatever grief they give us because I want to be there for you. With you.”

  “Good answer.” Del kissed him again, a soft, lingering kiss that promised more. They still weren’t back on firm ground, but at least Spencer felt like they had a path forward, and he’d take that for now.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The hands-free/GPS device in his truck beeped with an incoming text right as Bacon pulled into the paintball facility’s parking lot.

  Miss you. Going to think about what I want to do to you the whole drive down tomorrow. Hoping things go well for you today. Love you.

  After he parked, Bacon dictated a fast reply that he’d call with a report later, really wishing the robotic text-to-speak voice was that of Spencer. He missed him too. But Spencer was the one who was very free with the “miss you” and “love you” feelings lately. Ever since their parking-lot promise to give things a second chance, Spencer had been way more affectionate than Bacon, reaching out frequently, while Bacon was still trying to find his footing. He wished they’d been able to fall into bed for a week after making up—that might have helped.

  But he’d had to get used to his new duties and prepare for Curly’s big day to boot. He’d told Curly and Rachel a few days ago that he was bringing Spencer, but he still needed to inform the team. It seemed only fair to not just spring it on them at the ceremony, risk spoiling things for Curly and Rachel. So, he was going to do it now. Today. Before the paintballs started flying.

  He took a deep breath as he exited the truck and headed for the lobby where a number of the guys were already assembling in their paintball gear, talking about ammo and how they were going to divide the teams for
the game.

  Curly greeted him with a pound on the back as he leaned in. “I’ve got your six, Bake. Promise. You can count on me this time,” he whispered.

  “Thanks.” He waited until Rooster, late as always, rolled in with Bullets, who was riding him about being tardy.

  “So, uh...” He coughed but no one noticed or stopped their various conversations.

  “Yo, doofuses! Bacon’s trying to speak.” Curly went up to level eleven in volume, which brought the room to a suffocating silence as all eyes turned toward him.

  Now or never. “So... I’m bringing a date to the wedding.”

  “Way to get laid.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Uh...why are you telling us?” Shiny asked. “Is she pregnant?”

  Bullets promptly whopped him in the head. “You can’t ask that.”

  “My date is a guy.”

  “Oh, right on.” Rooster looked up from tying his boot to give Bacon an unexpected fist bump. “Mine too.”

  “You too?” Bacon blinked, trying to follow.

  “Oh, come on.” Rooster straightened and looked around the room. “How many times do I have to say equal opportunity before you guys get it? I welcome all attention, and when a cutie slides into my DMs, I’m not gonna get hung up on labels.”

  “What the heck?” Bullets shook his head. “Man, first Lowe’s gay, now both of you are bi—”

  “Pan for me, actually,” Bacon corrected.

  “I’m just saying—”

  “Think long and hard about what you’re saying next,” Curly warned him, wagging a finger. “I stood by and let Donaldson get away with his crap for far too long. I let the rest of you make bad jokes. I let down my best friend in the process, and it took almost dying for me to realize what a jackass I was being not speaking up. I’m not going to make that mistake again. So unless your next observation is hella helpful, you might want to put a sock in it.”

  That stunned everyone back into silence for a long moment before there were several murmured apologies.

  “Sorry, Bake.”

  “We’ll do better, Rooster.”

  “So, um, who’s the lucky guy?” Shiny asked when all that died down.

  “Ah. Well, this is the tricky part, and really why I needed to talk to you. It’s Spencer. Spencer Bryant.”

  “Man, were you guys fucking while he was embedded?” Rooster asked with more admiration than censure in his tone. “LT is gonna have your ass.”

  “We got friendly while he was with us, but everything...else came after.”

  “Damn. I hope y’all’s dicks have timestamps ’cause Naval PR is gonna want all up in y’all’s business.” Irving laughed. He came from the Florida panhandle and generally didn’t speak much unless it was a wisecrack like this that got everyone laughing.

  “We’ll deal with any flack from PR. I just wanna make sure you guys are all cool with him.”

  “Not sure how I feel about him spilling all our secrets.” Shiny made a face. “But if you say he’s cool...”

  “He’s not going to spill secrets.” For the first time, Bacon was a little bit relieved about Spencer tabling the book project. It meant one less thing to have to try to explain today anyway. “He’s a reporter, but he’s not out to get anyone, I promise. And you can trust him to stay quiet about important stuff.”

  He looked right at Rooster with that last bit, trying to convey that Spencer wouldn’t out him, not that Rooster seemed to have much issue with who knew what.

  “Dude, I really don’t care if you’re banging the pope or whoever, but can we please get to playing?” Riddles asked, and a bunch of guys in the back nodded in unison.

  Choosing captains, Curly gestured at Bacon and Rooster. “We gotta let the new chief flex his muscles. And maybe if we make Rooster captain, he won’t lag behind.”

  Bacon’s chest went tight. He got what Curly was trying to do, and it was a nice gesture on his part, so Bacon picked him first, and Rooster picked Bullets in another nice gesture, and then they were done with niceness and on to the serious business of kicking ass. As it should be. And with that, a hundred-pound load lifted off Bacon. The team would survive this, maybe even come out stronger for it. Just like him and Spencer, hopefully.

  * * *

  Bacon straightened his new chief’s dinner dress uniform as he paced the parking lot of the large suburban church where the wedding was being held. Rachel’s family was all from the northern San Diego suburbs, and Curly joked that since her parents were paying, they could all handle the drive. The wedding day was perfect San Diego weather with clear blue skies and moderate temperatures, but apparently traffic was snarled on I-5, which meant Spencer was running late. Which meant no pre-wedding sex at his hotel like they’d planned. And it might mean no seeing Spencer until the reception, which would suck.

  “Bacon?” The LT, also in dress uniform, strode over, his much taller, glamorous blonde wife on his arm. The few times Bacon had met the woman he’d marveled at the LT’s good fortune. The LT whispered something to her, and she continued on into the church on her own.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Senior Chief told me you’re bringing Bryant today.” The LT looked him up and down like he was expecting to have to correct Bacon’s gig line or the polish on his shoes.

  “Yes, sir.” Bacon had called the senior chief the same day he’d told Curly, told him he was planning on telling the team. After chiding him for not listening to his “stay out of trouble” lectures, the senior chief had said he’d handle the XO and the LT, which Bacon really appreciated. But he’d known he’d have to face a conversation like this one sooner rather than later.

  “Naval PR is undoubtedly going to want a few words with you.” The LT shook his head, heavily gelled hair gleaming in the sunlight, as he sighed. “However, I’m prepared to tell them that nothing untoward happened during your assignment as Bryant’s liaison. That you comported yourself exactly how we’d expect. Senior Chief says your...friendship happened after, and I’m going to take both your words on that.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it more than I can say.” He really did. He’d been prepared for an argument with the LT, maybe even getting written up.

  “I also hear you and Bianchi both had similar news to share yesterday. I hope you know that your personal lives are just that—yours. I know I run a tight team, but anyone gives you any guff about that, you can always come to me or the senior chief. We won’t tolerate any harassment.”

  “Understood, sir. And I know Rooster—Bianchi—will appreciate that too. I’ll pass it on to him.” He’d seen Rooster earlier, and Rooster hadn’t been kidding about his date being a cutie.

  “See that you do.” The LT turned to head into the church. “And, Chief, see that you stay out of trouble? We’re counting on you to be a good example, and our team needs more leadership like yours. I don’t say it often, but you’re one of the best the navy has.”

  “Thank you, sir. Will do.” Bacon felt like his relief and pride might burst the seams of his jacket. And then he caught sight of Spencer near the church entrance and it was a wonder he wasn’t floating. Heart surging, he hurried over.

  “You made it.”

  “I did.” Spencer in a suit was enough to make it hard to breathe. The gray fabric looked expensive and was perfectly tailored to Spencer’s lean frame. He’d paired it with a light green tie and pocket square and looked incredibly dapper and polished. They didn’t kiss but they did look into each other’s eyes an extra-long time until finally Spencer squeezed his hand. “You better go do your best man thing, Chief.”

  “Okay. You gonna dance with me afterward?”

  “Absolutely.” There was so much promise and hope in his smile that Bacon had to struggle to let go of his hand. As hard as it was for him to open up and fully trust in a future together, he was so damn gra
teful for all Spencer’s patience. His optimism powered Bacon, brought him closer to the place where he too believed.

  * * *

  The newly married Rachel and Curly—whose real name was Karl and who had a lot of similarly burly male relatives populating the reception—had truly terrible taste in music. Like every cheesy wedding song imaginable terrible. The reception hall was a country club, and the event space reminded Spencer of the airplane hangar where Del had had his pinning ceremony, which probably wasn’t the ambiance the bride was going for, but all the yards of tulle did little to soften the exposed white beams of the high ceiling or the cavern-like qualities of the large room.

  Still, cheesy music and bad acoustics aside, Spencer was happy to be there, happy to watch his guy accept congrats on making chief and for a toast well done. Del had said all the right things—he’d practiced on him on the phone last night and he’d managed to be smooth and charming in his delivery without being too rehearsed. He’d made all the military guys crack up with a funny story from training. And those same guys were all pretty decent to Spencer too. Hell, he would have settled for just not getting the evil eye from the guys he’d been embedded with.

  A few had made a point of saying hello, like the senior chief and Rooster and Shiny, who was now dancing with the most earnest young woman Spencer had ever met. Spencer wished he was good at the whole surreptitiously videoing thing because they might just break the internet and become a meme.

  “So far there hasn’t been a single song I wanna dance to,” Del observed as he came over bearing drinks.

  “Shiny keeps stepping on feet that are neither his nor his date’s,” Spencer observed as he took a sip of his sparkling water. “It’s dangerous out there.”

  “I should protect your feet then, take you away.”

  “Yes, yes, you should.” Spencer smiled at him right as a very overdone slow jam came on.

  “Okay. This one isn’t horrible.” Del plucked Spencer’s cup from his grasp and set both their drinks on a nearby table.